


James and Margaret

by I_Skavinsky_Skavar



Series: While Steve Rogers was Gone [3]
Category: Captain America (2011)
Genre: Bromance, Crush, F/M, Moving On
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2012-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-02 10:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Skavinsky_Skavar/pseuds/I_Skavinsky_Skavar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Falsworth and Peggy Carter's lives in peacetime, the cold war, and the looming absence of Steve Rogers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	James and Margaret

The first time he saw her, he’d have just walking a hundred miles from Austria to a US Army base camp in Northern Italy, part of battalion-sized force of liberated servicemen and partisans hailing from over a dozen different outfits and nations. She was standing among the crowd, in uniform, facing the Captain.

After the initial elation of freedom and safety had swept over the _Battalion_ , he started to succumb to hunger and exhaustion, and only craved a hot meal and a soft cot, when she and others of the camp commander’s staff went among the crowd, collecting names and identification.

“2nd Lieutenant James M. Falsworth” he answered, his voice hoarse with thirst, “His Majesty’s Third Parachute Brigade.”

“You’re the only officer Hydra to make it back alive.”

“I’ll try to get killed next time.”

At the time, he didn’t know or care if she’d taken offence to his words. His belly was making the most profound arguments. If she was, she brushed it aside so that she could go ask similar questions of a shivering Frenchman from Leon.

Soon enough, he was looked at by a Captain of the medical corps who’d given him a bill of health. He was promptly fed and allowed to rest. The next day he caught a glimpse of her right as she, the Colonel and the Captain departed the camp, and noticed what a ravishing creature she was, and felt regret at acting uncouth the day before.

He then spotted a nurse, then a secretary, and a driver. He finds them all ravishing creatures. One of them is called Janice, from Montreal, had a beau who’d gone missing in action earlier in the year. They might all been the same one.

 

 

A few days later, he was on leave in London. The allied papers had taken to referring to the 400 men as _the Lazarus Battalion_. Some of the men were discharged and sent home, some were returned to their nits, but he was of the lucky few allowed a week’s liberty in the big smoke.

He was leaving a gentlemen’s club on evening, a delightful yellow-haired pretty young thing on his arm, when Corporal Dugan walked up to him out on the street.

In their captivity together, the two soldiers started by sharing a bit of hostility, one being an English noble while the other a low-born Irishman from Boston, but commandeering a tank tended to bring people together.

He told James that the Captain wanted to meet him, their cellmates Dernier and Jones, as well as that Asiatic fellow Morita, at a pub that night.

Disposing of the girl wasn’t much of an issue, as he was as practiced at leaving them expectant and happy as he was as attracting them. An hour later, he listened to the Captain’s proposal; a special operations squad to raise Cain before the Axis forces, and he agreed.

A few minutes after that, celebrating with his new friends over pints of bitter, singing half forgotten lyrics to _There’s a Tavern in the Town_ , he saw her again.

She slunk through the smoke and dim light, creamy white curves in a red dress and red lipstick, stopping conversations and grabbing attention in her wake. Someone in the pub has the presence of mind to wolf-whistle, and she was gone to the backroom.

It was a few quiet moments before someone at the table talked. It was Morita, and with the level of profound wit and eloquence he’d come to expect from the radioman in the couple of year to come, he said,

“Jeeesus Christ!”

“That,” James said, “Right there, chaps, is a **_woman_**.”

Dugan loudly proclaimed that he’s a married man to ward off certain uncatholic thoughts that stormed through his mind. Jones made a pitiful boast that he’s seen, and had, better, while Dernier said something somber, passionate and incomprehensible.

Though he pretended otherwise, she was all he could think about until she left, not one minute later. Without really thinking about, he got up to follow her, and found his path blocked by the bulk of a burly Leading Seaman of the Royal Navy. Dejected, he returned to the table, but he was determined to find her again, and ask her to dinner.

He spent the hours to come drinking with the boys, make crass comments and telling tales of glory, recounting stories from their now mythic firefight-fraught trek from Austria to Italy and others before.

At some point, over one spirit-fueled comment or another, Jones took a swing at him, and he was restrained by the Captain from retaliating. Drinks were had to smooth it over, and by last calls, they were too drunk to see straight, and staggered out onto the street, herded by their Captain toward their hotel.

 

 

The next day, after the worst of the hangover had passed, he stared inquiring about the identity of the lady in red. What he imagined would be a long, winding search ending with a dinner date ends up being a conversation with Sergeant Barnes held before either had even left the hotel.

The Sergeant told him that her name was Peggy Carter, that she was Colonel Philips’ adjutant, and that she was Captain Rogers’ sweetheart.

James owed the Captain a fair bit, and he actually liked the Yank. An infatuation wasn’t worth souring the bond between them, and the importance of the work they would soon embark upon trumped the pleasure a brief tryst would’ve brought. And if that wasn’t enough for him to bow out of the way, then Sergeant Barnes’ veiled threat to inflict bodily harm should he make a play for Rogers’ girl certainly did.

There wasn’t any time for a tryst, anyway, as the top squad found themselves bound for Carrickfergus, Ireland, for accelerated Commando training. Three and a half weeks of damp hell later, suffering together under nigh-sadistic trainers, they emerge proud, victorious, commandos.

Briefly back in London, they learn of their first mission from Agent Carter, who they learn is to be their overseer.

And so, the seven went to war. As the only other officer in the squad, James was designated second-in-command. He followed the Captain into Sicily, Austria, France, Poland, Holland, Luxemborg, Belgium and Normandy. In Sicily, he was wounded by shrapnel and the Captain carried him over his shoulder to safety, getting shot twice, but never faltering.

In the woods outside Bastogne, sitting in the snow at night while others slept, James told him a secret he’d never shared with anyone; his twin brother, John, had left defected to Germany years ago, receiving a commission in the SS, and he feared that should he find him in battle, he would not be able to fulfill his duty as a British soldier.

In France, when the others were bogged down elsewhere, the two of them were sent to hold a French town called Lansquenet-sous-Tannes until relief could arrive. Hydra came at them with a fifty-foot tall tank. It was stupid and hopeless, but they were both officers in the allied forces, so they blew the tank up and held the town until their relief arrived.

In between such larks, there was occasional liberty in Paris and London. Sometimes he socialized with Agent Carter, along with the rest. As the only other Briton most of the time, she enjoyed his company, and he did hers, without any of those trifling _feelings_ to complicate things. One day, he learnt of a betting pool at SSR about when she and the Captain were going to break down and make frenzied love to one another and be done with it and put five pounds on whever Berlin would fall.

 

 

One day in March of 1945, the Captain went missing.

A week later, he saw Agent Carter for the last time in the war.

She was sitting at a table by herself at the Stork Club, dressed to the nines, her hair and makeup immaculate, dolled up for one man like no other, and like no other, he was going to leave there. He watched her for an hour, as she rebuffed the advances of every man that came near and looked wistfully toward the arched entrance every minute, hoping to see her man.

He wanted to be by her side then, to ease her heartache some way, but knew he couldn’t, and that if he did, she wouldn’t allow him.

 

 

It was the spring of ’47, while taking a stroll through Hyde Park while on leave, did James spot a familiar face. On a bench by the Weeping Beech, Agent Carter sat wearing a brown dress, reading a book.

“Margaret Carter?”

She looked up, putting a hand to her forehead to block out some of the sunlight to see her caller clearly.

“Lieutenant…” she started, then noticing the three pips on each of his shoulders, she adjusts, “ _Captain_ Falsworth. It has been ages. Lord, I’d have thought you’d have left the service by now.”

"It suited me too well, I'm afraid. What about you? Is it still Agent Carter?"

"I'm afraid not. I work for the BBC, now." She said, then moved her purse closer to herself, freeing up some space on the bench, "You don't need to keep standing."

"Thank you." He said as he sat down next to her.

"What do you do in the BBC?"

"I'm a researcher in the foreign affairs section."

"Married?"

"No. You?"

"No. I was briefly engaged, right after the war."

"I'm sorry it didn't work out."

"It would seem the euphoria of victory doesn't lead to good decision making."

"Do you live in London?"

"Not quite. I'm stationed at Hereford. I'm just here for family business."

They talked for the better part of an hour, about old friends and acquaintances they had kept or lost touch with.

"Morita was married late in '45.” James said, “Yes, to a lovely young girl called Grace. I believe he's in University at the moment."

"Good for him." Said Peggy, then inspecting her wristwatch she followed, "I'm really glad we got a chance to catch up, but I should be getting back to work."

"Absolutely." He said and got up along with her, and helped gather her belongings.

"Listen, why don't you have dinner with me?"

"Dinner?"

"Yes. I've got a standing reservation at Café Royal. We could catch up some more, if you like."

"I would have loved to…" she said with a warm smile, "But I already have plans for tonight."

"I see. Anything you can perhaps reschedule?"

She smiled and shook her head to the negative.

"Well, alright."

"I'm very sorry." She said, "Next time you're in London, do look me up."

"I will." He said, "And next time, I'm not expecting 'no' for an answer."

She laughed and they bid each other farewell.


End file.
